


Somebody to Love

by itakethewords (Itakethewords)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Broken Hearts, Cliffhangers, Crushes, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Memory Loss, Near Death Experiences, Sickness, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Victor spelled with a k, Virus, Vomiting, Vomiting Flowers, sickness related amnesia, spores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itakethewords/pseuds/itakethewords
Summary: Hanahaki was a global phenomenon with no preventative cure; only when someone was in the throes of pain was action taken. A disease that thrived off of love that was not returned and manifested in the form of flowers. It left Yuuri terrified to fall in love and he vowed to never let a single bloom fall from his mouth, he didn’t see what was worth it..





	Somebody to Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a part of the Isekai: Another World AU zine project. Thank you to all the contributors and the mods for the experience! Please enjoy

When Yuuri was five, he saw people throw up flowers for the first time. It wasn’t something people could hide, spontaneous flowers and flora coming from between their lips. When he was eight, he witnessed Minako, a family friend and his mentor in dance, throw up pink camellias. Not long into their lesson, she was hunched over and retching, pink spilling onto the ground in clumps of blooms and broken petals. It didn’t last long, but it felt like an eternity to Yuuri who watched with morbid curiosity and slight fear. When he inched closer, he saw full flowers, some crushed, missing half the petals, and some with little damage but all covered in bile and spit. Minako pushed a trash can into his hands as she swept up the mess and took the bag out to the garbage bin. Three weeks later, Minako went in for surgery, postponing their lessons. She never threw up flowers again and never talked about her brief moment of Hanahaki other than one drunken rant that included her calling it  _ a foolish moment of insanity. _

While it seemed magical and beautiful as a child, when he and his classmates turned twelve the full truth was revealed; they were warned of the fine line of having a crush and true, unrequited love. Of course, it was depicted in movies, books, and television dramas as romantic and poetic, when in reality it was painful and tragic. Hanahaki was a global phenomenon with no preventative cure; only when someone was in the throes of pain was action taken. A disease that thrived off of love that was not returned and manifested in the form of flowers. It left Yuuri terrified to fall in love and he vowed to never let a single bloom fall from his mouth at fourteen.

Not everyone survived Hanahaki. There were various factors: the spore-like virus that inhabited the lungs and stomach that some people didn’t have the immune system to fight, the flowers that were sometimes poisonous and seeped into the bloodstream, sometimes the flowers and thorns tore away at their insides, the blood loss and damage too great to repair, and sometimes, people opted to let the disease take them, to live with the pain of unrequited love until their last breath. As painful as it had been to watch the girl in his psychology class in university throw up thorns and the seemingly endless flow of blood from her lips as she wept, he didn’t see what was worth it.

He met Phichit Chulanont, a Thai boy in his program only a few years younger than him, and became fast friends. His friendly nature and ability to engage in physical contact like it was nothing baffled Yuuri. Before Phichit, he mostly avoided people, afraid of contact, the impossible probability of contracting through touch or the air they shared. After, he reluctantly went out for the occasional drink and events around town, including the monthly puppy adoption parties in the park.

The man who ran the parties, tall and Russian with silver-blond hair, always had a smile on his face. He laughed and played with the dogs while his team signed people up for pre-adoption interviews. His smile was large, his laugh obnoxious but fitting. The dogs loved him and Yuuri was happy to see someone care that they got homes. It was a rare moment where he didn’t see flowers cause pain and he relished it as one of the few untainted moments in his life without Hanahaki. 

After a night of drinking and stumbling back to their apartment, Yuuri rolled his head to look at Phichit on the couch next to him. The younger man was clumsily typing on his phone, tongue peeking out between his lips. Immediately he could tell the flush on his cheeks wasn’t solely from the alcohol. He was texting someone. Someone who could hurt him.

“How can you do that?” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

Phichit blinked. “Do what?”

“Get close to people? Aren’t you worried about Hanahaki?” Yuuri shuddered at the thought. He wasn’t exactly known for making friends but even to his own ears he sounded cold. It couldn’t be helped. 

It seemed to take him a moment to process Yuuri’s comments, but after a moment, Phichit only chuckled. “Hanahaki isn’t contagious, Yuuri. Just look at it as a reason to not hand out your love so freely. Anyone who’d make me contract that virus had better have earned my love and make the pain worth it.” 

Slapping Yuuri on the shoulder, he stumbled to a standing position and shuffled to the kitchen to make tea. “I’ve learned this partly because my siblings, all four of them, they’ve all gotten Hanahaki at some point and watching it over and over, I’ve seen all the stages of Bloom. Two of them got the surgery and are fine now, one somehow managed to convince the woman to date him and now they’re married and the Bloom is gone, and Maliwan… She didn’t do anything. I found her one morning in bed covered in jasmine. We’ve all learned from her but, as the youngest, I like to think I know not to let myself get carried away.” Phichit’s smile shrunk a little.

Yuuri bit his lip. “If you did, would you get the surgery? Even with the side effects?”

“Well,” Phichit paused to think, setting the kettle on the stove. He seemed to sober up the more he thought. “The side effects don’t always apply to everyone. I know it’s a long shot to hope that, but I’d like to think if I was sick and got the surgery, they wouldn’t.”

“But the apathy? The chance that you could never actually love someone?”

Phichit snorted. “That side effect is so rare, I’m not concerned. I have so much love for the world, there’s no way I could be apathetic. The healing time sucks, two months, but not dying is important.”

Squirming in his seat, Yuuri frowned. “But not being able to love…”

“You only lose the interest in the person who didn’t return your love, Yuuri. And what does it matter if they didn’t anyway?”

Handing Yuuri a mug of warm, fragrant tea, Phichit suddenly looked exhausted. Despite being twenty-five, Phichit had a bright outlook on most things and seeing him look weary didn't suit him in the least, in Yuuri's mind. Yuuri grabbed his hand and squeezed in support. 

Yuuri's favorite was the standard poodle. He found out from the volunteers of the adoption parties that, while not up for adoption now, she once had been and it had been the silver-haired man who adopted her. It had been the start of these events that had been going on nearly five years now. The next time Yuuri came, the same man cheerfully called out to him with a wave, beckoning him over. 

“Yuuri, look! Someone dropped off these puppies last week! Isn't it awful? You should adopt one since you love Makka so much!” 

Looking into the pen, Yuuri couldn't help the gasp from his lips. Three impossibly small poodle puppies nursing from a happily panting golden lab. They whined as they suckled, bodies wiggling. 

“They're aren't even weaned?” 

“No. The mother passed after giving birth, so the owner gave them up since they didn't have a mother. Penny is taking care of them until they're ready. Aren't you, girl? Who's a good girl?” 

On the bus ride back home, Yuuri hiccuped. The tickle in his throat persisting until he walked through the door and opened his mouth to call out. Instead of his voice, his hiccup forced a thick bloom of marigold up. The taste sat bitter on his tongue. 

Phichit found him twenty minutes later sitting in the tub, petals and blooms scattered like a haphazard lover's trail. His shoulders visibly slumping, he held Yuuri until the sobs subsided. 

* * *

He couldn't figure out who had ruined his life. Who could be have fallen for? There was no question as to why they didn't reciprocate; he was just Yuuri. His own mood seemed to effect Phichit, who appeared to be taking it almost as hard. The mood in the apartment was gloomy, even carrying over to their adoption outing the next month. 

By then, Yuuri had moved from marigolds to soft, magenta-colored scabious. They came further between, but they produced body-wracking coughs that left Yuuri breathless and shaky at best. There were times, as he threw away the sticky, bile-coated blooms, he swore he saw honeysuckle mixed between bits of trash. 

When he received a text from the Russian poodle man about the puppies, when his heart skipped a beat, when he hiccuped a perfect scabious, he realized. The cheerful photo of him cuddling one of the babies, a small caramel-colored boy, and waving on his screen. Yuuri realized. And he wasn't sure what he should do. 

The next adoption day, he fumbled his way through an awkward moment. 

“H – have you ever had Hanahaki?” 

There was a pause in movement before the man threw the ball for Makka to chase. “Hanahaki? No. Never really had the opportunity.” He turned to look at Yuuri. “I'm sorry. I heard from your friend you recently got it yourself. That person doesn't understand what they're missing.”

Despite begging and angry arguments with his family, friends, even the first real argument with Phichit, Yuuri opted to skip surgery. His fears outweighed the reality. His fears consumed him as the rue spilled out. It came quicker when he realized Phichit had also contracted the virus. The honeysuckle and sardony tucked away clicking into place. Yuuri didn't know how to stop, how to take away his feelings without risking the side effects of the surgery. He would give anything to take it away. Looking at flowers made him ill and the smell reminded him of impending death. 

But what was life if he didn't feel things? If he didn't one day find someone to marry and love them? What if the flowers still came after the surgery? 

Phichit wouldn't tell him the fool who couldn't reciprocate his feelings. And they both knew it was obvious who for Yuuri. They huddled close on the couch, talking with purpose with raw throats, speaking of dreams and wishes and the chances of futures. 

“It's possible to get rid of Hanahaki without surgery, Yuu. You just have to get over your crush. Completely over him. Oh, or make him fall for you! The two of you get along well!”

Yuuri could only shake his head. “I don't know how I got this crush. He's just been that guy with all the dogs but then one day… I hate this!” He took a deep breath. “I hate that I'm making my family and friends sad! I have how my insides burn and the issues it makes me have. I hate that I like him so, so much! I hate that he doesn't feel anything for me!” The tears were thick, his voice cracking. Phichit ran his fingers through his hair, hugging him close. 

Despite Yuuri’s condition seemingly have manifested first, the Hanahaki cloying and rooting deep in his lungs and chest, Phichit's own Bloom seemed to progress much faster. There were days he couldn't leave the house, the breath taken from him easily. Others, they both barely had the energy to do anything but lay there, gasping for breath as their TV played quietly in the background. The canned laugh tracks were a comical echo of their situation, and it grated on his nerves.

On a day Phichit felt well enough, he left the apartment to visit his family who had come to check on him. Yuuri was left alone, weak and hiccuping scabious again, laying under a pile of blankets. When his phone went off, he barely glanced at the screen before answering.

“Hello?”

“Yuuri? It’s Viktor! Why didn’t you say something?!”

“Hmm?”

“Yuuri! Where do you live? I’ll come over, we can talk!”

Yuuri shifting, sitting up. Confused, he answered, “Talk about what? Are the puppies okay?”

There was noise of shuffling and a huffing breath. “Not the puppies! You! Me! Us! You should have told me you liked me, damn it! Never mind, Phichit gave me your address. I’ll be there soon, don’t go anywhere!!”

Viktor came over daily. Yuuri didn’t have the energy or the heart to tell him to stop. The moment he left, he was throwing up flowers for hours. He couldn’t decide if he loved him or hated him, but because the Hanahaki didn’t fade, clearly that love was still strong, winding its way around his lungs and strangling his heart. The best part of Viktor coming over was that, a little bit at a time, Phichit seemed to be getting better. He was letting go of his unrequited love, admitting to Yuuri as much one day when he hiccuped coral-colored honeysuckle. A different shade from those days months before. 

Yuuri napped often. It was exhausting forcing up flowers and the occasional accompanying greenery and the mental taxation and unknowing torture Viktor forced on him was beyond tiring. One afternoon, after saying goodbye to Phichit who left for errands, he settled for sitting up in bed and played a mobile game to pass the time until the afternoon visit from the poodle man. It wasn’t long until he fell asleep, slumped, after a particularly painful coughing fit. He told himself he could clean them up when he woke up from his nap and let the deep-rooted exhaustion take him.

* * *

Phichit didn’t know what to say. He had encouraged Viktor to visit Yuuri, to get to know him. Viktor felt incredibly guilty, not realizing Yuuri’s feelings. He liked his best friend, was more than willing to get to know him more and see if they could develop a relationship. He confided in Phichit that he liked spending time with the shy man; was more than happy to come by. Phichit himself, he could see himself letting go of his own crush in the meantime. 

The crush he’d developed on his best friend.

He supposed watching the two of them get closer, the possibility that Yuuri could find his own happiness helped his Hanahaki to retreat. Those feelings that had morphed from friendship into a budding hope for romance were being buried deep. It was why he had less trouble moving around, doing errands, caring for his friend. He could go days without petals or flowers now, his lungs felt clearer, his chest lighter. 

But the feeling that slammed into his chest when he got back to his apartment and saw an ambulance and a weeping Viktor talking to the police, it was heavier than every flower that existed. He’d rather have thrown up thorns and hemlock than witness the stretcher being loaded into the back of the ambulance. A wail escaped his lips as he ran up to Viktor, shouting for answers.

“Phichit! I-I don’t know… I came and Yuuri didn’t open the door… I heard coughing and I used the key you gave me. He was convulsing in bed, I tried to hold him down.” Viktor’s eyes were red, voice unsteady. “He was throwing up blood and the flowers and… and it was so much.”

* * *

Weeks later, as he packed up the apartment, sticking shipping labels on Yuuri’s belongings, Phichit couldn’t help the lump that kept manifesting in his throat. It was bittersweet, going through things. Two emergency surgeries and Yuuri was no longer his roommate. His best friend’s greatest fears of complications from Hanahaki surgery came true, in a way. They had successfully cleared the spore virus from Yuuri’s chest, but with it, the memories of loved ones also left. He remembered his family back in Japan, but most friends, acquaintances, a dog-loving Russian, those memories went with the tangled roots that had been cleared. 

The first time after surgery when Phichit had visited, it had been stilted, absolutely uncomfortable. He was a cheerful stranger in Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri had reverted back to the shy, extra reclusive man he’d been when they met six years before. He had been reluctant to talk, stared at Phichit’s hand like it was germ-ridden, and mumbled half-answers. His sister had to come out to get him ready to come back, fetching things he’d need immediately and leaving money for Phichit to send the rest back to Japan. He refused to even make eye contact with Viktor.

Phichit still hiccuped honeysuckle.

The last thing Viktor had said to Phichit that day, as they watched Yuuri go through security with his sister, “I think I missed out on a chance of life and love. I was afraid and it hurt him.” He turned to walk away. “I hurt you, too. I’m sorry. I didn’t fall in love quick enough.”

And for Viktor, delicate, white American starwort flowers began falling from his mouth the day Yuuri left for Japan.

Lifting up the last box, he stacked it by the door for the delivery service to pick up in the morning. The apartment was nearly bare. He was going to head back home for a time; he missed Thailand. Maybe living with his family would remind him of his own advice he’d given Yuuri ages ago. Though, if he kept his heart a little bit closer, a little bit more hidden than before, it was more in homage to his best friend than anything else. He wasn’t afraid, it was just being smart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and feel free to check out my other stories! i'm at tumblr (still lol) as velvetcovered-brick and twitter as @katsudonice28. Come say hi!


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